New Beginnings
by Vyke95
Summary: England is initially unimpressed by what he sees in the New World. Once he meets a particularly boisterous little boy, his perception begins to change. Eventual USUK/UKUS. Historical AU (events are depicted differently than they are in canon). Start of a series of one-shots that will include the relationship of England and America over the course of history.


**A/N: So this was originally a part of a gigantic project my friend and I had started. We had intended on creating a fic that explained the relationship between the US and the UK throughout the course of history. That project has since been dismantled, however, not before we had the chance to write some of it. I'll be posting the one-shots I personally wrote for the project because I don't think the material should go to waste. Some will be posted separately, some will be posted in a short sequence. I hope you will enjoy them. **

**June 9, 1610 Jamestown, Virginia**

England was _irritated. _

No, actually, he was more than irritated. He was angry. He'd been sailing across the bloody Atlantic for _months _now for the sake of seeing his supposedly flourishing colony (_his colony, his very own colony_), and what did he find when he'd finally arrived? All of the colonists had packed away into two ships of their own, ironically named _Deliverance_ and _Patience_ at that, and were out in _the middle of the fucking river _on their way back home. Evidently they'd given up and had planned on abandoning the Jamestown settlement, marking yet another great colonial failure for England. He had been about ready to toss the blasted cowards overboard by the end of their explanation, but, fortunately for them, Lord De La Warr intervened and had given them a licking for him. The nation felt that the bastards deserved a bit more than a stern scolding, but perhaps that was just the exhaustion talking.

He supposed he shouldn't be quite so unsympathetic. Evidently their settlement had been bustling with approximately five hundred men a year or so ago. However, lacking supplies and means to acquire food, many of them had starved to death, and their numbers dwindled until a mere sixty of them remained. Any man would be discouraged by such a tragedy, but even still, England had half a mind to knock the fools off their feet for their stunt. Mostly because they apparently hadn't even bothered to invest in securing enough food and supplies to support themselves, and instead decided to rely on external aid for their source of sustenance. No wonder the majority of them had starved, the _idiots_…

England released an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer. At the rate this was going, Jamestown was going to end up as another Roanoke. Another bitterly disappointing failure. There'd been a _reason _he'd refused to see this colonial effort out up until now. But that book, that _blasted book _by that _blasted John Smith _had piqued his interest. It'd described his adventures in the new colony and the tussles he'd had with the natives in the region. Yes, it'd described some of the inevitable struggles as well, but overall the effort hadn't seemed _nearly this pathetic_. The book had intrigued him enough to go out on this adventure, to invest in this colony, and now that he was here, England desperately wished he'd never left the comforts of his home.

The heat didn't help. It was muggy. The sun beat down on his pallid skin in a way that was sure to burn, the air was thick and humid. Aggravating buzzards and insects swarmed him, biting and nipping at his flesh, surely enjoying their feast much to his displeasure. He must have swatted at least thirty of them by now, and they just kept coming. Of all places to colonize, the settlers surely picked a bloody _hellhole_ for a location. Though considering the other tactics these idiots had previously employed for their survival, England wasn't very fucking surprised.

He hoped Lord De La Warr wasn't quite as dim-witted.

Trudging through the mud, England reluctantly ripped through the buttons on his shirt, opening his shirt in an attempt to cool himself off in this blazing heat. It was too hot for clothes, truly, but he tried to remain civil. He pulled his hat down to shield his eyes from the glaring sun, and sweat plastered his sandy hair to his face, dripping in rivulets down his neck. While he was no stranger to nature, he hadn't been exposed to such an environment in decades. He was out of his element.

The nation approached the fort- if it could even be called that anymore- with a furrowed brow and an unimpressed purse of the lips. The palisade had been torn down for firewood, the settlement stripped of its defensive barriers. Several houses had met a similar fate, and overall the sight was pitiful. England supposed it looked exactly as it should have looked being what it was, an abandoned fort, but the image in its entirety was incredibly disheartening. He hadn't exactly been imagining a city of gold overflowing with wealth, surrounded by the elixir of eternal youth and the garden of Eden, but for _Christ's sake, _he had _expected more than this_. He shook his head and buried his face in his hands for a moment, wiping them down his cheeks. He should have known better than to be optimistic.

"Rebuilding the fort will be one of our primary orders of operation, sir."

Surprised to have been caught off-guard, England turned to the voice in question, finding the captain, Lord de la Warr, at his side. The nation nodded curtly, giving his inevitable approval. "Of course. A colony cannot be maintained if its citizens are not sheltered." He couldn't suppress all of the grit from seeping into his tone.

"I hadn't been expecting to find an abandoned colony when I came here either, Mr. Kirkland, and I'm sure your presence in the entire situation has brought much shame and humility upon the men who'd attempted to leave this establishment-"

"Oh _yes_, I could clearly see the humiliation in their gaunt, mutinous sneers." England snorted.

"-_But _we've brought plenty of supplies with us during the voyage, as well as a doctor and additional, fresh, _hard-working _men. Now that we know what mistakes to avoid, we can set up preventative measures and insure a prosperous future. Jamestown won't crumble and fall into ruin again, I assure you."

"Save your promises." England grumbled, not quite up for wishful thinking at the moment. He'd had his dose of optimism, and it'd been violently smothered upon their arrival. "Right now I need a drink. If you'd excuse me, governor."

The nation gave the man a sardonic tip of the hat before brushing him aside, leaving Lord de la Warr to tend to his men. England wasn't in the mood to discuss plans and investments and rebuilding for the future, he wanted to take his mind off of the entire ordeal in general. And he knew exactly what could distract him.

A small group of men had already raided the rum supply and were conversing noisily, the alcohol taking effect on them. Normally England would reprimand such an irresponsible, drunken display from a group who would typically define themselves as gentlemen, but he was in a sour mood and honestly wanted to waste himself as well. Responsibility could come later. Snagging a bottle of the liquor, the nation threw his head back and took a swig. He gracelessly plopped onto his ass, taking a seat in the sand, yards away from the dismembered fort. The nation sent the settlement an odious glare and nursed his bottle of rum, willing the drink to do its job and take him far away from this hellhole.

And that's when he saw him.

At first, England thought he'd imagined the little boy crouched in the dirt, leaning against one of the remaining structures, knees pulled to the chest. He stitched his brow and blinked a couple times, hoping the illusion would disappear. When the image of the child persisted, England frowned, puzzled. It wasn't that children hadn't lived in the colony before, they had, but the nation couldn't imagine that any of them had survived the starving period. Most fully grown _adults _had succumbed to starvation, how on Earth had a _child _managed to escape death?

England wanted an answer. He nudged one of the tipsy men with his elbow, dragging him out of his meaningless chatter. The man turned to him, albeit begrudgingly, but, alas, a commoner such as he wouldn't be so bold as to disrespect his national representative. England hardly paid his poorly masked resentment any attention, focused on his own curiosity. "Who's that boy?"

"What boy, sir?"

"_That _one." England pointed with a huff. "The _only _one on this bloody island."

"Ah, _him." _The man nodded, clearly recognizing the child. "He's a strange one. I wasn't among the original settlers here, but I've heard the stories. They said they'd found him out alone in the forest, days after their arrival. Scared the piss out of them. They thought they'd stumbled upon one of the Spaniards, but after exploring the area, it was clear that there weren't any of them folk around here. Nothin' but Indians in these woods."

"So they found a child in the forest and just decided he was safe to take in. No questions asked." England groaned and suppressed an eye-roll at such blatant stupidity. "He couldn't have just _appeared_."

"Well, the boy didn't exactly pose much of a threat. The settlers didn't want to just leave him to die, he's just a kid. What else were they to do?"

"Get to the bottom of it all." England grunted, pressing his palm to his forehead and brushing his hair back. "I suppose it doesn't matter much now. Though it is strange...nobody ever even attempted to claim him? No conflicts or consequences at all?" England quirked a brow, taking a drink of his rum. It was just so...peculiar. The child was practically an infant from the looks of him. What was he doing out in the woods by himself?

Something stirred in the back of the nation's mind. Well...he did have an _inkling _as to what might have happened.

The man shook his head. "It's one of the more interesting mysteries of the island. Especially since nobody officially takes care of him, yet he still seems to manage. It's amazing really; he's such a tiny thing after all. Sure, some of the others coddle him, but...I'm surprised he's still alive, to be honest. I didn't think he'd last long once the others started dropping like flies. However, I'm glad he did. He's a joy to have waddling around. A real morale booster. He keeps us going."

England snorted. "Considering I found your lot ten miles away from the settlement, I wouldn't say he's a very effective one."

"Everyone has their limits." The man shrugged, taking a hard swallow of his own drink. "If it were up to me, I'd be _fifty_ miles away by now."

England let the comment slide, sensing the conversation was going sour. "How old was he when he was found? He hardly looks like he could be older than two or three."

The man blinked, but soon enough recalled what they'd been talking about. "Ah, that's another component of the mystery. He hasn't aged much at all. In fact, the only real difference his body seems to have undergone over the past few years is his weight fluctuation. He's much slighter now than he was before…"

"That is...odd." A pertinent frown graced England's lips, and he stared at the little one in contemplation. That inkling was growing stronger, more persistent. It _would _explain why the child had appeared alone in the woods, why he'd managed to survive malnutrition at such a young and tender age. Though truthfully, England didn't know how he felt about the possibility. He hadn't expected one of _them _to arise from his colonial expansion. Did all colonies have their own national representative? Had there been a child for the Roanoke colony, despite its utter failure? Had the little one perished with the rest of its people?

England grimaced. He didn't want to imagine such a thing.

Time for a distraction. "Does he have a name?"

"Most call him James or Jimmy, though he has more affectionate titles."

"_James." _The name was bitter on the nation's tongue, and he sneered with disgust. "I suppose we should just name _everything_ after the king, seems like we've done so already. Soon enough all of the new world will be claimed in the name of a _fool_, and in a hundred years no one will be ever the wiser." _Except for himself, of course._

England abruptly stood from his spot on the ground and began brushing the dirt off of his trousers, a sudden desire to do something other than mope overcoming him. There was something off about this mystery child, and he would get down to the bottom of it. If his suspicions were correct, there was no way in _hell _the boy would be named after that blasted king. He deserved better than that.

Leaving the man to indulge in his drink, England strode back towards the fort.

His strides became less confident and more restrained as he drew nearer to the boy, contemplating his first words. He didn't have much experience speaking with children. Surely he'd spoken with the royals from time to time, learned their characters and evaluated their potential worth down the line when they inherited the throne, but even with them he had kept a fairly professional distance. He'd lived too long to be foolish enough to grow fond of a child who could one day have a ruinous impact on his kingdom. Besides, there were more important matters to attend to than chatting with such loud, squirmy little things.

Though as the boy's curious blue eyes met his own with their diminished distance, England began to regret never obtaining such a skill. He forced a weary smile when the boy's expectant gaze failed to waver, and managed a forgettable "Hello there."

The child's gaze faltered, though didn't relent, as he covered his mouth with one hand, the other used to give a hesitant wave. His tiny fingers curled into a clasp, knuckles gingerly thrumming at his lower lip, and England noticed how bitty the boy truly was. The starvation may not have claimed his life, but it clearly took a toll on his form.

Feeling a bit imposing given their difference in stature, England crouched before the boy, meeting his eye level. The child remained silent but observant, and England could tell he was analyzing him as well. Yes, those eyes were much too speculative and insightful to be human. There was a distinct aura about the boy, England could feel it now, and for a moment the nation was at a loss for words. He hadn't stumbled upon a new representative in ages, and he certainly had never found one this young. Had he erected from the establishment of the colony? A multitude of questions swarmed England's thoughts, age old questions that have haunted their kind since the beginning of time.

Similar to humans, nations had the tendency to ponder upon their existence. The exhausted, repetitious questions of purpose and meaning and whats and _whys_ tended to cross their minds on particularly bromidic afternoons when there was simply nothing better to do than to preoccupy themselves with basic philosophy; however, for the immortal creatures, the questions of life were also a bit more complex. There was also the matter of _where _for them; where had they come from? Of course, humans questioned this as well, but they questioned this more as a species rather than on an individual level. England could not say where he came from. He'd heard rumors of a Britannia, whom his brothers claimed to be their mother, though even then he was skeptical as to whether she'd truly been their mother in a biological sense. Many of the nations he'd encountered couldn't remember a parental figure; they'd simply come into existence, it seemed. They'd lived in seclusion, never even meeting another of their kind until they were much older. Some had theorized that perhaps they'd replaced the national representative preceding them. Some suggested that they'd simply emerged out of necessity, for a nation was bound to its people, and when a people vanquished, so did their nation. Whatever the case, England certainly questioned what had happened to cause the emergence of the representative before him.

It was an odd thing, the notion of a representative for a colony. The boy was not a nation, but he clearly wasn't human. He was one of them, he was like England, but he was not. There was a definite difference in status, and it puzzled England considerably. What was it about a colony that qualified it for its own representative?

Sighing to himself, England shook his head. It was best not to get hung up on such useless questions. The fact of the matter was that the child did indeed exist, and he would have to figure out what to do with him.

There was a long pause before England opted to speak again. The boy's attention had flitted elsewhere with the silence, mostly to examine how the mud sunk around the edges of England's boots and the dirt stains that lined his trousers. Although he remained tense, as one does when in the presence of a stranger, the child had grown more comfortable. Or perhaps just inattentive and nonchalant.

England was set on ruining it. "You're different from them, aren't you?"

The child's eyes quickly flicked back to England's, caught off-guard by the sudden question. The nation simply smiled and sat across from the boy, bringing his knees up and mimicking the sheltered position the child had taken. When the boy didn't respond, England mistook it for timidity and pressed on. "Perhaps you don't fully understand what separates you from them, but surely you can sense a difference, yes?"

The boy refused to respond, continuing their silence, and briefly England wondered if the child could even understand him. He was rather young after all, even in human terms. England's smile tightened as the question lingered in the air between them before deciding that perhaps it was best they move on.

"Why are you over here by yourself, child?"

His eyes were so strikingly blue, so naively wide with pink lining the edges in a way that made him look all the more infantile. They eagerly examined the nation before him, soaking in all of the details that composed the stranger's physique. England could tell the boy was analyzing him, though he wasn't sure if it were out of blatant curiosity or to assess a potential threat. Regardless, the child didn't seem to trust him enough to speak.

England released an exhausted sigh. Oh how he longed for his bed, to be wrapped in warmth and lulled to sleep by the secure sounds of the rumbling tide. He yearned for the serenity and tranquility that attended sleep, the comfort and rejuvenation it promised. But alas, they still had hours before the sun would set and many obligations to tend to. Becoming acquainted with his infant colony was England's primary objective.

"Well, I suppose an introduction is in order." England mumbled, mostly to himself. Baby steps and patience, he was reminded, were two things small children needed from their caretakers. The nation leaned forward slightly with a subtle but contrived smirk. "My name is Arthur Kirkland, though I'm also known as England. We're similar, you see."

And that's when it finally happened. The child emitted a tiny gasp, his eyes lighting up in recognition and _astonishment_. The bewildered expression was absolutely stunning on the little thing, and England's heart skipped a beat, a flicker of heat igniting in his chest. He hadn't expected the boy to react at all, nevertheless seem so amazed. He briefly wondered what had sparked such a positive reaction.

And then the child _smiled _at him. It was shy and sweet and hidden behind tiny hands, though large enough to crinkle the soft skin of his nose and bring warmth into his gorgeous, _gorgeous _eyes. It uncoiled something in England, a smouldering pain coursing through his veins at such an endearing expression. A sense of yearning dwindled within him, and he felt reprieved, comforted. It was then that the weight of the situation truly sunk in, and an overwhelming, instinctive desire to protect the infant washed over him.

His words were struggled, his tightened heart betraying him, "I see you've heard of me?"

The boy didn't grace him with a verbal response, but his smile widened all the same. He pushed himself off of the ground with childish clumsiness and waddled over to him with little difficulty. He wasn't quite by England's side when he suddenly paused and scoured the ground, seemingly searching for something. After a few moments he bent over and plucked at a dandelion before promptly extending the weed to England, smiling gently as he waited for the other to take it.

England blinked, though formed a smile himself as he accepted the gift. "Thank you. It's a very pretty flower."

With a bashful smile and a small nod, the little boy suddenly ran off, golden locks bobbing up and down with his every step. England sputtered and jolted forward, prepared to chase the mischievous rascal; however, it proved unnecessary, for the boy came to a sudden halt and plucked another flower. He was absolutely radiant as he made his return, his brilliant smile wide enough to reach his eyes. The grass rustled unsteadily as the toddler slowed himself, his arm extended forward in order to present the flower, another weed, that was being unfairly mangled within the child's guileless grip. England's brow turned upward as he sighed, accepting the second gift graciously.

"Thank you, dear. You're very generous." He clasped the two weeds in between his forefinger and thumb, twirling them a bit. They were pathetic, really, with missing petals and disfigured stems, but the sentiment was touching and the boy seemed satisfied enough. "Do you know the significance of the dandelion?"

A flash of confusion came across the boy's soft features. "Dandy-lion?"

His high, soft voice did not betray his age, and England's chest tightened all the more. "That's right, dear. This," he gestured to the weed in question, "is a dandelion, and dandelions are very special. Take a seat, and I'll tell you all about them." He patted the earth beside him.

Eyes piqued with interest, the young boy plopped down beside the nation and regarded the flower inquisitively. He sat upright, his posture indicating an enthusiasm that made England's lips crook fondly. "Not many people know this, but dandelions actually hold some magical properties. They have the ability to grant wishes."

The child lit up with that. "What kinds of wishes?"

"Any wish you like, love." England handed one of the weeds back to the boy and kept one for himself. "But only if you blow away all of the petals."

He then demonstrated his words, giving a sharp huff and watching as the downy petals scattered, the wind carrying them off towards the shore. The boy became restless with excitement, a smile blooming across his face. "What'd you wish for?"

"I can't tell you. It's a secret."

The smile vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced with a confused pout. "I won't tell anyone. Tell me!"

England chuckled at the boy's petulant display. "Wishes don't come true unless you keep them a secret. I can't tell anyone."

The boy still looked unsatisfied, but he accepted the nation's words. Amused, England gestured towards the weed within the child's own hand. "Now you try it."

The child hesitated for a moment as he contemplated his wish. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, brow stitching and freckled nose crinkling in an almost comical portrayal of concentration. Once he'd reached a decision, he took a deep breath and blew at the dandelion harshly. A look of despair flashed across his face when only about half of the petals detached, and he swiftly turned to England to voice his concerns. "They didn't all go!"

"Ah, I suppose they didn't." England stated calmly. He sighed when he saw a wetness prickling at the corners of the boy's eyes. He reached over to cup his cheek, gently thumbing away his tears as he hushed him softly, "Shhh, it's nothing to get all worked up about."

"But my wish won't come true!" The boy protested, his voice filled with a sincere sorrow that honestly made England feel a tad guilty. Brushing his hand through the child's golden hair, the nation soothed him, "Let's not give up just yet. You may not have succeeded the first time, but that does not mean you can't try again."

The child seemed puzzled, but England smiled at him reassuringly as he pushed himself up from the ground. He hoisted the toddler up into his arms, a warmth filling his chest as the boy clung to him instinctively. "We'll just have to find another dandelion, yes?"

"Would that really work?" The child was eager once again.

"I don't see why not." Glad to see the boy in high spirits once more, England set off with the child to fetch another weed.

They had spent the rest of the day together, picking flowers and sharing stories and lounging about. The little one had surely opened up after the initial introduction. Evidently he had heard pleasant stories of England from the colonists who considered it their home, had longed for it during the starving times. It occurred to England that the other must have regarded him as some sort of savior, associated him with food and plenty. The thought shot a pang of something through his chest. He would never allow his colony to feel such need again.

Because that was what the boy was, his colony. His own little colony, and England was the mother country. The provider, the protector. The child was his responsibility now, and _lord_, did it make him nervous. He'd expected the colonial business to expand his economy, to increase his exports and his wealth. He had not expected this.

The boy was currently tucked away in his arms, fast asleep against his chest. England could hear his soft hitches of breath, feel his chest move against his own. The boy was beautiful, fragile, endearing. He was a ball of energy, a beacon of light, a radiant furnace; he held much potential.

England smiled when the boy shifted in his arms, nuzzled deeper into his body. He pressed a kiss to the top of his head, inhaling his sweet scent. The boy would not be named after such an insignificant monarch. No, he deserved much more than that. He would be named after England's own savior. He would be named Alfred.

**A/N: Well, that's it for now! I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are much appreciated, and critique is welcome/encouraged. Thanks for reading!**

**History Notes:**

**Jamestown was the first successful, permanent English colony in the New World (or anywhere, really). It had originally struggled due to poor planning on the settlers' part, and many of the colonists had succumbed to starvation. As shown in the fic, the colonists eventually gave up and had intended to sail back to England in order to preserve themselves. They'd been stopped on their voyage, however, by Lord de la Warr (after whom Delaware is named). He brought much needed supplies and managed to whip the colonists back into shape. **

**Let me know if anything else needs clarification.**


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